


Green-Eyed Supernova

by Nika_Bo



Series: San Siro Stadium [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, LARRYhint, M/M, NARRYhint, SanSiro2014tour, ZARRYhint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:35:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nika_Bo/pseuds/Nika_Bo
Summary: While on stage Liam is contemplating the machinations of their little galaxy of friendships and dreading impending doom.





	Green-Eyed Supernova

Note:  
I couldn’t sleep the night before my birthday. My demons were looming too close.  
I surfed YT and stumbled upon an episode of an obscure TV show about celebrities getting in a car and singing along with a UK host.  
There was a boy in a beautiful floral shirt. He was sunshine, love and charisma personified.  
I fell. Hard. So hard I think I am shattered. But… in a cool way.  
Things haven’t been the same ever since.  
That was 27 days ago.

 

***

The light.

The light always seems to find its way into Harry’s face, his eyes. It seems to like to stay there. To pool and shine and glow. Refract and multiply. For long periods of time. Until it breaks forth again, often at the most unexpected times, radiant and overwhelming. Basking them all in glorious warmth and love and happiness. It’s the most incredible thing to see. To feel. To experience. 

They’ve all become slightly addicted to it.

It’s been a subtle thing, their fixation, gradually developing, yet already there from the first moment they came face to face with it. The smile, those eyes. That radiance. Each one of them has been graced with the overwhelming force of Harry’s happiness. His gaze a green solar explosion, whipping through you like a force field. Upsetting each molecule in your body and rearranging them in a new order. That smile. White teeth flashing, dimples popping. A wave of affection rolling towards you and cresting, crashing above your head, dragging you under, flooding your very core with warmth, love, affirmation.

You are changed forever after that.  
And you need more of it. A fix has been established.

You start to crave it. On a regular basis. You come up with absurd actions to elicit it. Pranks, tickles, stupid jokes, water fights. Despite all the chaos, the mania, the exhaustion of touring and recording, the bleary-eyed, homesick loneliness in hotel rooms you have that one thing that builds you up again. The tiny nugget of gold in the chafing grainy sea of endless tour routine. Harry’s smile. His smile that turns his whole face into a beacon. It’s a ray of sun through clouds, it’s a lighthouse beam in the stormy night, it’s…. oh fuck poetic ramblings!

Doused in golden light on a stage, the high-pitched noise of ecstatic screams ringing in your ears, surrounded by white-blue phone flashes, illuminating a 70,000 at-capacity-stadium, somehow feels like nothing compared to the smile of the boy at the end of the stage. 

The boy. 

When he thinks of Harry on stage he never thinks of him in a straight line. The boy is always bent, curved. Either forward, arms outstretched and leaning towards the audience, or towards his mic stand, hands folded behind his back. Singing, shouting, pouring out his soul. Giving himself to the masses.

Or he is arched backwards, face tilted to the heavens, arms pumping to the beat of the drum, perhaps spitting water into the air like a human geyser. Exuberance and excessive kinetic energy exploding into the skies. The crowd loves him for it.

Silhouetted against the garish colours popping on the LED screens, Harry’s body is a black-clothed semicolon of long skinny legs, muscular torso, wide shoulders and crowned with a curly halo of tousled, too-long hair. 

Harry looks like a prince. Hell, like a king.

A fucking king of rock, strutting and prancing down the stage, dragging the eyes of the entire audience along with his every move like an invisible crowning cloak. Harry is a god.

He can’t fight the sudden pang of jealousy. Of thinking: “I want what you’ve got!” Of: “Damn, I want to BE you!!!” Because he knows where he, Louis, Niall and Zayn all have: cute, talented, pretty, sexy, Harry has: adorable, gifted, beautiful, porn.  
They have pop. He has rock.  
They have attitude. He has charisma.  
Harry has stunning. Has overwhelming. Has eclipsing. Has the decibel maximum of those screaming voices. Has OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He should hate that little tosser. But he can’t because despite all his gifts Harry doesn’t care, he doesn’t flaunt it. He’s oblivious, humble. Kind and affable. A king without knowledge of his riches. An angel unaware of his wings. A god ignorant of his powers.

Powers that lay not exactly dormant but slightly hidden beneath a shy, clumsy exterior back in the early days of X-Factor. A cheeky kid with a desire to please, perform, yet still far from the fully-fledged entertainer who can hold masses enraptured with a single movement of his hand, a gaze, quietening a full stadium with a finger against his lush lips.

He has seen Harry charm every crowd with his antics, get them to boiling point by making them repeat just two simple words, talk for minutes about something as mundane as poutine and have everyone being in love with him afterwards.

All falling. And falling hard.

Like him, Louis, Zayn and Niall did. Back in 2010. They all gravitated towards him. Like moths to the flame. He was so bright. He would burn them all.

Looking back at those heady first few weeks of being together, through the X-Factor experience and the time after that they were all getting hooked on Harry then. Tentatively at first, stealthily sneaking closer for a taste. Liking the experience. Coming back once more. Then again. More often. Regular. Getting used to it. Hungry for it. Dependent.

And Harry – always so generous with his affections, his smiles and cuddles, sweet smelling and silky haired and so damn pretty – ever ready to be leaning over, long monkey arms enveloping, sharp chin resting on a shoulder or head tucked under an arm, snuggling close to you beneath a hotel duvet. Always ready to give warmth and giggles, affection and touches, be a source of light they all gathered around like a campfire in the night.

One never felt homesick with Harry around, never sad or tired or cold. Not when Harry was being around for you, laughing and touching, smiling and kissing. Focussing his entire being on you and you alone until everything negative fell away, all turned perfect, happiness shooting up through your veins like Heroin.

And it was all him. And only him. Always. In all those years. Nothing else ever came close.

They all have their addiction now. But to be honest he thinks that he’s got the best part of the deal, his often jealous and competitive desire to outdo Harry keeping him from falling completely over the edge. But Louis and Zayn? Hopeless. Gone. Even Niall is circling constantly closer, on the brink of falling. Of losing his heart.

Their hearts. They all belong to Harry.

He holds them in his surprisingly large, slender-fingered hands. He can treasure or crush them. Play with them like marbles. Like his juggling balls, throwing them high and catching them. Or letting them fall at his feet.

At his feet.

Louis and Zayn have been worshipping at Harry’ feet. They’ve been on their knees for him. Repeatedly. Liam knows they have. He has eyes to see what’s been going on. What things finally progressed into after all those innocent affections. He sees the signs. Harry’s halo of tousled curls more upset that usual. His berry-coloured mouth plump and ripe. The shine in his green eyes brighter than ever. And Louis and Zayn floating on clouds, their cheeks flushed, irises diluted, lips moist and used. 

They are high on him. His taste still on their tongues. Getting deeper into it, falling further.

And Harry always carefree, kind and charming, never cruel or calculating, simply unaware of how much power he wields, how deep his looks and smiles, cuddles and embraces get to them.

Harry is a supernova and while they are all staring, admiring his light from a distance, mistaking it for safety, he is ripping through them, obliterating every last shred of self-control. 

He sometimes looks at old pictures of that sweet, radiant kid, comparing them to his bandmate on stage and thinking they are two different persons. In character still very much the same yet the physicality and aura staggeringly different.

When has Harry changed? When has time decided to turn this cheeky chappy into a smouldering sex god? How have they all simply matured, their features still very much the same, only older, while Harry has gone and transformed from cute, innocent, frog-mouthed boy charmer to chiseled, alluring, mysterious seducer with a dark carnal promise in his bright eyes. 

He has no idea, and perhaps they are all clueless and that’s part of the allure but he’s scared that this could, will, tear them all apart. He doesn’t know how much longer Louis and Zayn will be able to stay away, keep enough distance, rotating around Harry. Gravitation pulling them in, orbits narrowing, daily. It is only a question of time until something will collide and then their fragile galaxy of friendships will truly be extinguished.  
But it seems inevitable ‘cause Harry is burning. He is burning bright. 

The light once more gathering on his face. Refracting, multiplying. Ready to become a green-eyed supernova.

The light.  
The boy.  
All falling.  
Their hearts.  
At his feet.


End file.
